


If He Hollers, Let Him Go

by scrawling_stardumb



Series: Eenie, Meanie, Miney, You [1]
Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Angst, Bloodbending (Avatar), Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Ficlet, Freeform, Gen, Horror, Hurt No Comfort, Kidnapping, Mind Games, Mother Hama AU, most dangerous game
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-13
Updated: 2019-12-13
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:47:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,185
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21777031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scrawling_stardumb/pseuds/scrawling_stardumb
Summary: It was the fight she enjoyed the most, she realizes.
Relationships: Hama & Zuko (Avatar)
Series: Eenie, Meanie, Miney, You [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1575436
Comments: 26
Kudos: 1005





	If He Hollers, Let Him Go

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MuffinLance](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MuffinLance/gifts).
  * Inspired by [The One Where Zuko's Hair Matches Sokka's and Other Tales](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21632206) by [MuffinLance](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MuffinLance/pseuds/MuffinLance). 



> This is a quick companion piece for MuffinLance’s Mother Hama AU, where Hama "adopts" Zuko. that I wrote get myself back in the writing and because I am apparently I’m a sucker for writing multiple escape attempts and Most Dangerous Game style scenarios.
> 
> You can find the first chapter [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21632206/chapters/51951307) and the follow up can be found [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21632206/chapters/51958984)

The first time he tries to run, it’s on a full moon.

She doesn’t know what possessed him to choose a full moon - perhaps more of that ash-maker arrogance, foolhardiness driving him to believe that the grace of Tui’s luminance that the Fire Nation takes for granted lighting his path was worth the risk of his keeper’s wrath when she was at the height of her power; perhaps the little spitfire’s numerous tutors neglected to recount the true power of enemies thought long dead and forgotten - but the reasons matter very little. Tui is not his to grace and though he is lithe and full of youthful energy, he can only run so far.

She loves seeing the look their eyes the first time they realize their body has betrayed them. That cycle of confusion, panic, realization and horror that passes across their faces in one form or another. Ozai’s spawn is no different, looking at her with such wide flame-yellow eyes, as she reels him back to her. It suits him, she thinks. She can almost picture the real Fire Lord staring back at her with those eyes.

Most of the fight usually left the others by the third night - throats cracked and raw from screaming. They succumb to thirst so much faster than her brothers and sisters had. Beg with so little dignity when she holds water cups just out of reach. Cry with moisture they can’t afford to spare, yet have never had to learn such restraint from the comforts of their ash-laden villages.

But The Fire Prince is a slippery little weasel-snake. Every time she feels satisfied that her preparations are thorough enough, that her restraints and cages and methods are fool-proof, the little fire does everything in his power to prove himself an even bigger fool. It’s part of the reason she keeps him close to her, instead of inside the mountains with the rest of his lot. He serves well as a reminder as to why she should always be on guard; that she’s come this far by adapting with circumstances, learning to eb and flow with her enemy’s movements as swiftly as the changing tides is the only reason she’s still here today.

Though she can’t deny that the other part is for the company. Her home is far from her reach, her sister tribe even further, and her captives have grown glassy-eyed and sullen like sick flowers withering away without the sun. But the little fire snake doesn’t wither, his eyes don’t lose their brightness. Like the Hundred Year War and his ancestors who hailed it, he is unrelenting in his efforts.

And on the days when he’s become momentarily tamed, when she knows that he is bidding his time with a new plot for freedom, he makes for an amusing pet. There’s so many holes in his defenses, so many lessons his dear Fatherlord and beloved, skiving mother neglected to teach - _like not following strangers,_ she thinks with a chuckle - that he should be grateful she’s willing to take the time and assume the duty of finding each and every single one of his tender weaknesses. And twisting a knife into all of them.

She looks forward to his escape attempts now. The memories of hunting across the ice with her father and grandfather have long faded, but the little spitfire has re-ignited the thrill of it back in her again. A good hunter is only as strong as it’s prey after all, and he is such a determined prey.

He didn’t run during the full moon for a while, after that first night. His next attempt was on a half moon, then during a waning crescent, then a completely moonless night, then in the light of midday when the sun was at its peak. Then after that he seemed to let the time of escape be decided on impulse, when he finally learned that the time of day made little difference when so much water-filled life surrounded them.

When he finally grew bold enough to try again on a full moon, it was when she left to take a few travelers (so eager to go to a home she could never have, to see their families while hers were slaughtered) up to her keep. He taken a sword she’d kept in the attic, a souvenir from a previous prey, and bolted when he thought she’d be too far to reach him. It had been closer than she would ever care to admit, but she pulled him back to her; dragging him by the blood as his legs just to watch him writhe.

(She doesn’t worry about him screaming anymore. Not after his cries had drawn the attention of a local farmer - a superstitious lout, she recalls vaguely, never strayed far from the imagined safety of home - too close to moon set and seeing too much to do anything with but dispose of. Little Fire understands the price of seeking aid now.)

It was the fight she enjoyed the most, she realized. Villagers weren’t fighters; weren’t even survivors. She was The Last Water Bender, the one who stood against the relentless onslaught of dozens of raids when her companions were stolen from her one by one. What challenge could _they_ ever pose to her?

Perhaps that’s why one night, as she watches Zuko finish the leftovers she had gifted him with, curled protectively around his bowl as he’d learned to do, back against one wall and knees drawn up, a thought comes to her. Standing up, abruptly enough that the little fire startles, unlocks the shackle around his ankle, and opens the door.

He stares for a long time, gold eyes darting between the door and her with knowing suspicion. She had learned that while he never learned to speak in lies, not even by omission with how his eyes gave up his secrets so easily, he understood the language of deception. He’s familiar with games, can see when they are being played, even when he doesn’t understand the rules.

No matter. He will learn.

"Go on," she urges, with all the false gentleness she had learned to lace into her voice those first few weeks, when he still followed dutifully at her heels and his anxious implorings for Mother could still be placated with "Soon." Before the little turtle-seal realized the comforting light he’d been following was the lure of an angler-orca far too late. She gestures to the surrounding forests just past the threshold, flickers of firefly-spiders glimmering invitingly through the brush, waiting for him, and flashes him a toothy smile.

When the temptation becomes too great, Spitfire practically explodes out the door. His bare feet leave singe-marks on the grass, sparks bursting from the arc of his firearms as he sprints into the tree line.

She watches him for a moment - lets him have a head start, lets him hope he has a chance - until the spark trail is nearly indistinguishable from the insects. Finally, she steps out, breathes in deeply as she soaks in the glow of a full moon. 

And follows.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed reading! Seeing how this was mostly a quick exercise I likely won’t make this a full fic. But who knows, if more ideas comes to me I might continue.
> 
> Cheers!


End file.
